I’m staying in The Mornington Hotel. It’s a pleasant 2 star establishment about ten minutes walk from the maternity hospital where I was born. Most of the photos on the website show rooms that I cannot go into right now. The bedroom is comfortable, and it feels like I’m the spy on a John Le Carré novel. Cork walls and some sort of alarm clock radio type thing made by Rediffusion – (remember them?)
I’m usually exceptionally good at digs. When I’m on tour I spend the first few hours organising my bits. Usually I have my Bose Speaker wired to my iPad for music on Spotify. Normally I have the means to make a little altar in a corner complete with gong and beads and a variety of different smokeless incense sticks. Frequently I have a Kindle loaded up with books I want to read, a good selection of clothes, a panoply of personalia and memorabilia. All of this went out the window this time. As soon as the cat was in the box I was on autopilot out the door and I am astonished at how badly I packed. I’m in here with no music but my phone. I’ve tried to make sense of the Rediffusion thing to no avail. And I’ve got virtually no oojieboojie stuff. Just my tarot cards. Not even palo santo. I feel naked. No books even. I didn’t really take into account the practicalities. I was too busy worrying about the cat and freaking out as I didn’t know where I was going to stay. I seem to have lucked out here. It’s not l’Horizon but it’s cheap and they care.
At 8.30 in the morning there’s a knock on the door and my picnic bag is left there. It’s great. They even put a sandwich wrapped in foil there for later, and a variety of snacks. I feel like I’m back at day school… I just need a Club or a Trio.
Day one sandwich was ham and cheese. Day two sandwich was egg. And these details are the things that help me know it’s a different day. The sun rises somewhere and sets somewhere else but I don’t really see it. I’m under the impression that the world is still turning out there but I’m not part of it. I sit with my sandwich and maybe I look at a building for a bit out the window as I draft my difficult emails and unwrap snacks.
The bin is full of packaging. I’ve been working through the instant noodles in the evening. The sink has my remaining non-alcoholic beers staying cool in water. I managed to resist the bottle of single malt on the ferry. I’ve got no toothpaste.
This afternoon I realised there was half a camembert left over in one of my bags. I disposed of it humanely. It had achieved sentience. I wasn’t aware of the smell until I left my room for a moment and came back. Now I’ve compounded it by ordering Friday night curry from the local Indian. This little beige room now smells of cheese, curry and feet. I’ve got some Nag Champa incense. I’m a little worried I’ll set off the smoke alarm but it might take the edge off.
And here I am.
I haven’t put the telly on yet but I’m going slowly bonkers so I might get lost in rubbish for a while tomorrow. I didn’t even bring camomile tea. Just some ridiculous mashup of infusions. But I can’t go shopping. Or do anything, really.
I’ve only got to do three more days. There are skies in Jersey. Beaches. Parks!